SuperSoldier Chronicles
by Lord Luca
Summary: This is the lost tale of the greatest battles never told. The battle the ONI waged against humanity itself in a brutal attempt to assert control during the war. Enter with caution into this web of lies,treachery and decite. This is SuperSoldier Chronicles


**Super-Soldier Chronicles**

_Hey._

_This is the edited version of my first Halo epic. Only a few differences, main one being it's shorter! To those who are waiting for what was to be 'part 2' it's coming in a few days, just finished the last touches. _

_I love all your reviews, so please continue to leave them. Good or bad, it's cool. Trollers and spammer's don't bother coz I just delete, no that's not a challenge._

_Enjoy..._

...

Dmitry takes a deep, lasting drag of his cigarette, enjoying the thick intoxicating fumes. The ancient smoke detectors have long malfunctioned along with the better part of the decrepit old station. Another day wasted away. A place where time stands still, a place where nothing matters anymore. The end of the universe, far away from everything that matters. Even the stars, making life a dreamless sleep. '_Deep space installation Bravo-212'_. The place Marines go to be forgotten.

The Marines sit in small bands along the steel tables, talking quietly amongst themselves. Their collective voices mixing with the clanging of plastic cutlery against sectioned plastic trays. Dmitry sits alone at the back of the mess hall looking out the unusual large windows to outer space. One glancing hit would blow a hole big enough to suck half the station into the cold black abyss outside. Maybe not a bad thing.

Dmitry exhales putting his feet on the table knocking aide his half eaten slop with his heavy boot. The view is terrible anyway; barely even a star to look at. Just a Halcyon-class cruiser, the _UNSC Bastion_ orbits the station lazily, only visible due to the fairly-like lights emanating from all over its armoured hide. Dmitry turns round to watch it drift pointlessly through space, wondering why command would even bother attach it to the station as it would be next to useless in an attack. So close to heaven but so far away from the angels, Dmitry thinks to himself.

A piercing alarm rings throughout the roomy mess hall before stopping abruptly. "Meals over boys!" a commanding voice shouts out. All the Marines jeer. Lunch and dinner is about all the time they get too relax. Never the less they slowly pick up their trays, dumping them near the kitchen area on a designated table.

Dmitry takes a few more drags of his cigarette before casting it away. It explodes in a violent shower of embers as it hit the grounds. He picks up his cigarette pack from the table. He looks at the big picture of the Emerald Cove tucked in inside it. He sighs, gets up and follows the other marines back to the barracks through the warren of tiny corridors.

The tired Marines arrive at the barracks entering in a slow death march. Dmitry does not. He walks to a door beside the barracks entrance. He unlocks it with his key pass and enters turning on the light which buzzes as if in complaint before finally illuminating. His room is Spartan. Just a bed and a desk with a closet beside it, the walls and floors are sheet-metal like the other areas of the installation. Dmitry walks to the humble bathroom at the back and looks in the mirror above the small tarnished steel sink. He runs his calloused fingers down the burn scar on the side of his face. A reminder of the past. He washes his face and begins to shave; afterwards he slicks back his short black hair and walks to his closet. He takes out his combat fatigues and throws them on the bed. Three minutes.

Dmitry takes off his shirt. He looks down at the tattoos engraved on his chest. Just as bold as the day he was initiation into 'the family' so many years ago in St. Petersburg. The stars over his heart and on his knees, the crucifix on his chest, the knife on his stomach. A reminder of the FSB which started this whole mess; a reminder of his past in the Russian Mafia. To make anything of yourself in this world you had to scratch and claw your way up, be more ruthless and cold than the others. Old Russia. The heart of the beast.

Dmitry quickly throws on his grey combat fatigues and steps outside his door. 0 Minutes, inspection time. All the other Marines are standing to attention in a line looking nervous and for good reason to. Dmitry casually joins them as heavy footsteps start approaching.

A thick set man with a uniform so neat it's almost glowing comes round the corner at a steady pace flanked by two fierce Marines wearing blue fatigues on either side. "Good morning ladies" he calls out in his powerful voice. "Good morning Chief Ambrosio!" the Marines immediately shout out in unison, Dmitry greets the Chief impartially, something which Ambrosio notices instantly with his dark eyes constantly scanning for any imperfections.

He storms over to Dmitry and stares him right in the face. His eyes so harsh they could penetrate steel. "What the hell is your problem Petty Officer Zurcov?" he screams at the top of his lungs. Dmitry doesn't move.

Ambrosio watches him carefully, regarding the man's cool attitude "You are not ONI anymore, son. They have left you here to rot." He says after a moment of thick silence with a large grin of delight. Dmitry's eyes flash onto him, suspicious. "Yes, that's right, I know allll about you." Ambrosio says, starting to circle slowly around Dmitry like a blood thirsty shark before an attack. The men closest shuffle away nervously.

"Looks like they sent you here to die, Zurcov and I will see to it that you do serving as _I_ see fit." Ambrosio says, drawing his razor-sharp Titanium combat knife putting it to Dmitry's throat. "I am Chief Petty Officer Ambrosio, ranking officer and commander of this installation...none of you forget that!" he shouts in his Spanish accent addressing the men.

His armed Marines coldly scanning the men's reactions. Ambrosio lets out a wolfish grin turning back to Dmitry casually putting the knife back to his neck "That means I own you now." He pauses, his smile fading fast "However it looks like someone loves you enough to give you an officer's rank with officers 'comforts'" He says pointing his head to Dmitry's cabin. "That doesn't mean shit to me, not here. _I am_ the Chief. _You_ don't forget that" Ambrosio says fiercely, his eyes wide.

Dmitry stands as still as a monument, eyes staring forward blankly. "That's better" The Chief says slowly withdrawing the knife from Dmitry's neck so it draws blood. The tough Russian does not even flinch. The Chief yanks Dmitry by the cuff closer to him "Pull it together Zurcov! Your ass belongs to me..." The Chief whispers right in his ear. Ambrosio throws him back and nods to his men. Dmitry straitens up quickly before the Marines in blue grab him, pulling him away from the group. Dmitry watches the Chief walk off down the line inspecting the men's boots, his ear ringing.

"I wear your uniform Ambrosio but I am not part of _your _Corps." Dmitry says fiercely in his thick Russian accent; fighting the two Marines trying to pull him away. Ambrosio freezes mid-step, his hazel eyes burn like hot coals, his moustache quivers when he swivels round. He storms over to Dmitry seizing a gun off one of his remaining blue Marines and immediately rams the butt into Dmitry's stomach who falls to his knee coughing; the Marines behind him pull him up.

His coughs and splutters turn to chuckles as he pulls something out of his pocket "You want one Chief? They hit harder than you" Dmitry says though his laughter and sharp breaths, offering his cigarettes.

"Take him" Ambrosio says slowly, thinly veiling his fury. The two Marines behind him pull the coughing Dmitry, he goes willingly laughing. "I own you now Zurcov and I _will _break you!" Ambrosio calls out after him, glaring at him till he goes out of site.

Dmitry spends the next 8 hours handcuffed to the toilet door on deck B 'guarding against queers' as one of the Marines who chained him up put it.

The hours pass agonisingly slow but it was worth it. It was worth it for the adrenaline at least. He stares with glazed eyes out the window, the Halcyon-class cruiser the _UNSC_ _Bastion_ lazily orbiting the station every hour or so. Dmitry looks sceptically at the MAC gun and ARCHER missile pods, the dated armour frame of the ship. It arrived three months ago and never left. The cruiser eventually passes out of sight and out of mind; Dmitry resumes his search for the elusive stars.

A few hours later he is back in his cabin. Another mind numbing day over. He takes out another cigarette and smokes it while lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Three left, worse yet it's his last pack of the thirty he was given at the Emerald Cove a few months back by one of the smugglers.

After he finishes Dmitry prepares for sleep, ready to rise again at '4am' and re-live another pointless day. Ambrosio was right; at least command was kind enough to give him his own cabin, probably because they know he would eat all the other Marines for breakfast. Dmitry laughs at the thought and turns off the light, quickly falling sleep.

The night passes unpleasantly as it always did. Ever since his last assignment he had nightmares. He sees himself back on the planet, Emerald Cove among the rebels on their secret paradisal base. The bright tropical sun, the clear blue ocean lapping up against the golden beach beside 'The Fortress'. An impregnable Rebel base which sprung up after the UNSC abandoned the planet due to fears of it being glassed by a passing covenant fleet.

The dream becomes more cryptic and surreal. People with hazy faces ask him how he is but they fade away before he can answer. He sees him. The leader of the 'Emerald Rebels', the mighty General Simba Zuberi, a hulking man standing eight foot tall, pearl white teeth in a grin, skin as black as coal.

He hears his booming voice thunder through his troubled mind, somehow distant but very real. 'Dmitry. We fight for freedom; we fight for a right to be our own people, not part of a government on the other side of the universe, telling us what to do and how to live, what do they know? Your one of us now...We will fight for your freedom too.

The memory of secretly disabling the ground based super MAC and orbital radar flash through his mind. The last image he sees is fire and death from the unexpected orbital bombardment _he _initiated.

He sees is a whole company of Marines storming the camp, flames and screams everywhere followed by bullets and bombs. His last vision is the General wrestling with a SPARTAN II super soldier before both falls into the burning sea out of sight.

It was my fault. I brought the demons into Eden, into paradise. Destroying it forever. Destroying the hopes and dreams of brave men. Destroying it all forever.

Dmitry wakes up sweating and breathing heavily. "You have betrayed your friends; you betrayed your dreams but Dmitry, it's not too late." The General's distant, disapproving words echoes through his head.

Dmitry sits up as if he was pulled by something. He looks around his dark windowless room and wipes the burning sweat from his face. Its wetter than it should be. He looks at his hand, blood. He lets out a sigh and gets up to the bathroom. The light snaps on cruelly, he squints against the abrasive light and turns on the tap to full. He looks into the mirror.

His face is bleeding again. He washes off the blood revealing a sharp scar more like a gouge on the right side of his face just under his eye. "Some memories won't allow us to forget." he whispers hoarsely to himself. He reaches for the medicine cabinet.

Before he has a chance to open it he is thrown out the bathroom into the wall in the bedroom. The lights flicker emitting a grating buzzing noise. Dmitry drops to the floor and braces himself as he was trained to do. His mind starts to race, his heart beating on overdrive. Excitement mingled with adrenaline in a powerful cocktail.

He wonders if it is another meteor shower. Last time they had one they had to seal _sector 8 _due to an atmosphere leakage. No, he had a strange feeling this time. The station lurches again and this time the light does not come back on. Startled voices come from the barracks next door. The red emergency lights cut in, illuminating the darkness a bloody red. "At least something works here" Dmitry says to himself. He throws on his combat fatigues and rushes outside.

The corridor is full of Marines looking confused and nervous. Dmitry heads over to them. The station shakes violently again, the metal groans under the stress of the impacts. Dmitry knows what it is, he controls his nerves and focuses. The emergency alarms go off. Its sharp sound screeches through the metal halls. Chief Ambrosio runs into the scene followed by his four armed Marines. "What the hell is this? Cut that god damn alarm!" he shouts into his radio. A few seconds later it stops to the relief of all ears. Ambrosio listens intently to the radio walking far enough so none can hear. He turns round slowly with a grim look on his face. "We have contact" He says slowly, his face blank.

...

_Again to those who have already read this I am sorry. To those who have read this first time please leave a review so I can improve. Constructive honesty is appreciated._

_Part 2 will be here at some point tomorrow. Anonymous reviewers are welcome. Thanks for reading!_


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